by Alex Ames
“Why not answer my question?” Ron helped him.
“This was a trap, wasn’t it?” Altward looked at me.
Instead of an answer, I fished for the fake necklace in my shirt pocket and dangled it in front of his face. He recognized it for what it was.
He nodded slowly. “Yes, I was perplexed when you visited me this morning. And the photo was of such high quality.”
“And you decided to check whether the rest of the Maximilian Jewels were still where you hid them?” Ron asked.
Another nod. “Marion’s house was ideal. She rarely comes here. It is close to San Diego, a perfect hiding place.”
“What happened then?”
“Well, I drove here, made sure that I wasn’t followed… ” He made a helpless gesture around. “See how effective that was. I looked for the box… ”
“Where did you store it?”
“Under the sink. There are several shoeboxes filled with household knick-knacks, I simply pushed it down under them and let it sit there. Anyone opening one of the first three boxes would find rarely used wood polish, boat wax and shoe strings.”
“When did Mr. Bounce come into the picture?”
“Is that his name? I was just putting the box on the kitchen table, ready to open it, when I heard a noise from the living room, like a dull crash.”
“The window was forcefully opened with a crowbar by Mr. Bounce,” Ron clarified for the recorder.
“Anyway, I had just walked to the living room to see what had happened, when I ran into… ” He winced slightly as he said it, “… Mr. Bounce. Realized he was bad news and tried to get away from him. As it turned out, that chunk of meat was quicker than I was. He grabbed me on the shoulder, spun me around and hit me in the face.” Altward touched his shiner and winced.
He pointed toward the garden. “Then things got chaotic. Mr. Bounce ran past me into the kitchen, came back with the box that I had left lying on the floor. Suddenly, the other man, a policeman as I now know, came running onto the terrace. Mr. Bounce pulled a pistol and started shooting, pulled another pistol and shot some more. The poor policeman jumped into the pool, I couldn’t see whether Mr. Bounce’s shots had hit him or not. Then you… ” He turned back to Juanita, “… came running and shot back from around the corner. It was like something from a Tarantino movie. The Mexican housemaid comes running, suddenly draws a big gun out of her purse and starts shooting wildly. I was lying on the floor with all that shooting going on above me. I simply curled up and tried not to get hit. Mr. Bounce retreated into the kitchen and after a few moments, I could hear the shooting continue from the front of the house, a crash, probably the kitchen window, and then more shots. Then Detective Garcia came in and rescued me.”
Ron helped him out. “Billy Bounce jumped through the window, shooting two-handedly, the box tucked under his elbow. Quite some stunt.” Ron gave me another one of his quick suspicious glances. “Have you met Mr. Bounce before?”
Altward shook his head.
“Please, speak up, the recorder can’t see you.”
“No, never. Although I suspect that he is behind the annoying phone calls I have been receiving over the last two weeks.”
“Breathers?”
“No, the silent type, like a message. As if forcing me to concede to something.”
“What something?”
“You know what—the Maximilian Jewels.”
“But you don’t know why he wanted the jewels so badly?”
Altward gave a huffed laugh. “Of course I know. It’s the money.”
“You had a buyer for the Maximilian Jewels?”
“Yes, I do. I did. An Argentinean collector. We had set an exchange date for the coming weekend.”
“How much?”
“Fifteen million.”
“No doubt the latest news coverage and celebrity helped to increase the street price,” I said.
“A national treasure!” Altward exclaimed, raised his hands including the ice bag to the ceiling, shaking his head and pressed the bag over his colored eye again. “The whole thing got so out of hand.”
Chapter 42
WE TOOK A short break to refill our refreshments.
Ron sat down again and pointed at the flat box on the coffee table. “Calendar, will you do the honors?”
I carefully lifted the lid of the box, put it aside, one-by-one lifted the items out of the box, and carefully placed them on the table.
“I agree that they are a little dusty, but we had to look for fingerprints first,” Ron apologized.
Even so, the Maximilian Set looked stunning. Simple eternal beauty. Ten pieces, each with a unique identity but lying side-by-side they formed a whole. A classic combination of white gold and diamonds formed the basic character, straight lines with only a minimum of ornament and playful rounding. The gold was brushed to give it some understatement and it was engraved with beautiful Aztec ornaments, a string of precious colored stones along the perimeter of the ornaments. The stroke of genius was the combination with sparkles of rubies and emeralds, giving it a European seriousness paired with Latin American joyfulness. The necklace I had seen before was the least spectacular, the most common piece of the group. Maybe the reason why Phoebe Eastman had used it for everyday wear. The other ones, the small crown, the diadem, the two arm-rings and finger-rings were spectacular. Far ahead of anything else from that era.
Even Altward, who had the gems in his possession for some time now, appeared to be moved, still.
In another satin pouch, I uncovered the Montenhaute pieces. In comparison to the Maximilian Jewels, boring.
“Grandma stuff,” mumbled Juanita.
“It was some kind of accident, wasn’t it, Mr. Altward?” Ron asked in a quiet voice as if not to wake any one of us from our respective reveries.
We all looked at Altward in silence. This was the question we had worked to answer in this whole setup. If Altward were a cool customer, he would simply say, ‘What do you mean?’ He could still deny any involvement in the death of Wally Eastman. The plan had been to lure him out, surprise him and rattle him. Billy Bounce’s spontaneous involvement had definitely worked to our advantage and far surpassed any rattling from us.
Ron didn’t push any further; he just sweated him out.
“You know,” Altward began, slowly, as if he had to find the right entry point. “I was in shock. After Eastman died, I couldn’t think straight.” He looked at us. “Imagine, I had just killed a man, whatever the circumstance, and didn’t know what to do. What if somebody found out?” He probably meant the police but, on the other hand, he could have meant his customers. “I was thinking about how to get away with it. And the most stupid thing to do came to my mind first: fake a burglary. Such madness.”
“You must have known that your safe room is almost impregnable and that suspicions might fall on you. Insurance fraud, most likely,” Fowler said.
Altward nodded. “Of course, I was aware of that. After Eastman and I had that… fatal row, I called my partner Paul Faulkner.”
“He was traveling at the time,” Ron pointed out.
“In Mexico, but I reached him on the cell phone. I told him about the mess in the gallery.”
“You seem to have a lot of faith in him. Telling him about a murder and all,” Ron tried to coax Altward here and there to get a feel for the story.
“We are close and I was desperate.” Altward breathed in and out several times, put his ice bag on the table. “And he had a plan. He gave me the number of a friend of his who would be able to help me fake a break-in to the safe.”
“Must have been a wizard to break into such a computer driven safe.”
“Yes, it turned out that he was. I finished the call to Paul, closed the door of the safe again and about half hour later his friend came with some fancy electronics and a computer. It was obvious that he knew exactly what he was doing.”
“Scary,” Fowler growled, slumped in his seat.
“He cut some w
ires and hacked away on a laptop. In no time, there was the usual click and the safe door was open. He told me that there were now no traces of any opening of the door in the alarm system logs that night.”
Altward paused, Ron continued. “You opened the door to retrieve something later that night and you closed it before the hacker arrived. The hacker opened the safe again. None of these accesses were logged because the hacker was able to override everything?”
Altward nodded again. “Like an alibi. Which it was. Perfect.”
“Wasn’t the safe cracker scared by the dead body of Mr. Eastman?” Ron asked.
“He didn’t see him. He was under the impression that we planned to perform some insurance swindle. I doubt that the hacker would have gone along with covering up a murder.”
“After the electronic barriers had been bypassed and the lock was open, you didn’t open the door?”
“No, I told him to leave it as it was. He shrugged, packed his stuff and left.”
“Did the hacker wizard have a name?”
Altward shrugged. “You will have to ask Paul.”
“What did you call him that evening?”
“I didn’t call him by his name at all, far as I remember.”
“How was he paid?”
“No idea, Paul arranged that as well.”
“You didn’t give him a little piece of art, jewelry or anything else?”
Shake of head again.
Ron put a photo of Hans Polter on the table. “Is that the guy?” Altward looked astonished. “Yeah, that’s him. You already have him?”
Ron took the photo away without answering. “So the door was open, the hacker left, you were alone with Mr. Eastman’s body and you continued with your plan to fake a break in.”
Altward continued. “Such madness. I was searching for something ‘to steal,’ took the Montenhaute jewels out of the display and began to close the safe when another thought occurred to me. The police would surely come and search the premises, the safe room. The insurance guys would arrive and enforce an inventory count. I had stored the Maximilian Jewels in the safe, the safest place in the world for me. They would have been discovered. So I removed them from the safe room.”
“And you brought them here right away?”
“No, that was probably the biggest mistake I made.” Altward was forgetting the killing, but who was splitting hairs here. “The first place that came into my mind was with the person I had a date with that night. My girlfriend, Phoebe Eastman.”
Although Ron had to be careful not to lead too much with his questions, in his posture, I could see a panther ready to leap. He was close to bursting with anticipation. “You stored the Maximilian Jewels in the apartment of Miss Eastman in La Jolla?”
“Yes. I drove there right after I closed the shop again.”
“You switched off the lights, left the safe room open and locked up the gallery. Took the Montenhaute and the Maximilian Jewels with you. Why did you kill Mr. Eastman?”
“I didn’t kill him. Don’t make it sound as if I were a vicious murderer. It was an accident, an argument escalating, and the heat of the moment.”
“About Phoebe,” I said.
“Yes. About Phoebe. Her father couldn’t stand the fact that I was seeing his daughter. The rich and renowned gallery owner having an eye on his beloved daughter. The dirty old man and the young thing. At first he held back with comments but later as my relationship with Phoebe got more serious he started bickering whenever we happened to be alone in the gallery at night.”
“He complained or foulmouthed you?”
“It was more like he was talking to himself. He made his rounds in the gallery or in the office and spoke to himself.”
“And that evening it was a little more than usual?”
“Yes, I had to fetch something from the safe that I needed early in the morning for a last minute customer. That was the reason I had to open the safe room. While I was checking the jewels, Wally came sneaking in, waving his large flashlight like Charlie Chaplin, and ‘talking’ to himself again. But that night I wouldn’t take it no more.”
“Why did you employ him at all? You could have requested his replacement.”
“On behalf of Phoebe. She was afraid that he would lose his job if I requested a change, which was probably true.” Altward shrugged.
“He got you enraged.”
“You can say that. We had a heated argument that went on for several minutes. Push came to shove and suddenly I hated that pathetic little man and his stupid protective hand over his daughter’s life. I should be ashamed to use his daughter… that she deserved better… and so on.”
“So you hit him over the head with the Calder statue.”
“Mobile. We had become a little physical, pushing and slapping. I tried to end the argument several times by finishing my errand and going back to the office but he wouldn’t let go. Pushed me, poked me with his nightstick two or three times. I pushed back. And then… ” He covered his face again. “I hit back with the first thing that came into my hand.”
“The Calder.”
“You know, the thing is, in a clear state of mind I would never, never have taken one of my pieces of art and used it for whatever, door opener, hammer, much less as a weapon. But some fuse inside of me clicked. It just clicked.”
We were silent for a minute.
“Just clicked,” Altward repeated several times. “And now they are all dead, all dead.” Altward started to cry.
Chapter 43
“MR. ALTWARD,” JUANITA said, “We are now arresting you for the death of Wally Eastman.” She read him his rights, again. “Do you want to call your lawyer now?” She spoke softly, as if not to break the chilling mood that had fallen over the room.
Altward rubbed his face again and shook his head, sobbing.
“Mr. Altward shook his head, indicating ‘No,’” Juanita said for the recorder.
“What happened to Phoebe Eastman?” Ron continued.
“That is the hardest part to explain, because I only know one thing for certain,” Altward said, looking pleadingly between us. “I know that it wasn’t me who killed her.”
Ron wasn’t impressed in the least. “Let’s do this step-by-step, Sir. You said that you took the Maximilian Jewels to her place.”
“Yes, right after… the accident,” Altward swallowed. “After I arranged the break-in, I closed the gallery. Then I thought about an alibi for myself. So I rode up to La Jolla and spent the rest of the night with Phoebe.”
“Just to get the record right. You dined with Mr. Thomas Cornelius in the Gaslight Quarter, went over to your gallery to get something from the safe floor for a customer date the next morning, had the conflict that resulted in Mr. Eastman’s death, then you called your partner Faulkner who arranged for the safe-hacker. The hacker arrived and did his thing, giving you a digital alibi. You grabbed the jewels and drove to see Phoebe Eastman in La Jolla.”
“That is correct. The next morning was pretty hectic because my assistant called about the burglary and the dead Mr. Eastman. I had to leave early, of course, and couldn’t talk to Phoebe. A terrible morning, I had to break the news to her of the death of her father and my conscience had to carry that load. One of her girlfriends came over to keep her company and I drove back to San Diego.”
“And the Maximilian Jewels?”
“In the hectic events of the morning, I left the jewels in Phoebe’s apartment.”
“You simply forgot them?”
“Yes, all of them. They were in the side pocket of my jacket. Because of my hectic departure, I left the jacket on the hanger.”
“The Maximilian Jewels were in a jacket on a hanger in Miss Eastman’s apartment?” Ron probed and showed his disbelief.
“Yes, together with the Montenhaute pieces and the stuff for my customer that morning. While I spent the next two days at the gallery with your colleagues, Mr. Wynn and you, Phoebe and one of her girlfriends spent the day mourning and dis
tracting themselves. They came across the jewels. Nothing to it, Phoebe sometimes lent herself some of my pieces; she could wear certain styles very well. Hell, sometimes I even encouraged it.”
“When did you notice that they were missing?”
“The one piece?”
“No, when did you remember that you left the jewels at Phoebe’s place?”
“Oh, right away. I left Phoebe’s place around nine in the morning and I remembered on the drive to the gallery. It was like a mental check, my God, what if they search you and find the jewels that you will claim to have been stolen. But then I thought, ‘good thing I left them with Phoebe.’”
“When did you manage to get the jewels back into your possession?”
“Two days later, it must have been Saturday or Sunday, I had free time to meet again with Phoebe. We had phoned several times, I mean, it was very hard for both of us. I had so much to hide and her father was dead.”
“You were still on good terms?”
“Of course, we were on good terms. There was no argument or any such. As I said, it was simply a bad situation, for both of us. I visited her, and managed to retrieve my jacket but didn’t check the contents. Phoebe was around after all. I didn’t spend the night at her place, I simply couldn’t and I also wanted to give her some room to grieve properly. Later, at home, I found out that the Maximilian necklace was missing. At first, I was a little nervous. Had I left it accidentally at the gallery? Had I dropped it on the floor? Nonsense of course, except for the missing Montenhaute, the searches and inventory counts never revealed anything out of the ordinary.”
“You called Phoebe later?”
“Not right away. We had a date for dinner the following night. I simply asked her for the missing piece, she apologized for not telling me, which I accepted. I mean, in those circumstances, it was not a big deal. Her father had been killed. She handed the necklace back to me that night. Case closed. As far as I was concerned, I had the complete set in my possession again. The next morning was Monday and I drove to Marion’s weekend house and stored the jewels there.” Altward pointed his thumb in the rough direction of the house next door.
